Sunshine
by Athan Raczynski
Summary: 'He has always been drawn to her, even in those days when he wasn't.'


He has always been drawn to her, even in those days when he wasn't.

The memory of her, golden and sweet, hovering anxiously on a Christmas party haunts him, stalks the edges of his subconscious mind. She was fresh, clean; everything he was—_is—_not. He wanted to touch her, to crawl inside of her brilliance and sleep, basking in her sunshine.

Then he feels sick as he tries not to remember what came next, how his need twisted with the poisons that held his walls up around him, and became dark, spiteful, humiliating her as both were the centre of the small crowd's attention.

She trembled, eyed him tearfully, and for the first time in his existence, he felt like a monster.

He was a monster.

But all he really wanted to do was hold her sunshine in his hands.

* * *

Months later the _what ifs_ of that night still plagued him.

"What do you need?"

He was broken, in the verge of death. There was no alternative; he'd clung to her, grasping her like a life raft that was slowly deflating, all of the air seeping out in an endless hiss.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am—everything that _I_ think I am—would you still want to help me?"

He was not okay, and she_—_she'd broken him open, nudged her way in, and seen the sorrow herself with her soulful eyes. He was in a moment of vast vulnerability, and yet trusted his weaknesses to her.

"What do you need?" she repeated.

He finally breathed.

"You."

* * *

How he wished it had been different, that he had given to her what she deserved, but he was _Sherlock Holmes, the fake genius, _and he wasn't whole, wasn't human.

He left in the night, the creamy skin of her back, partly concealed by the long, silky strands of brown hair, as the last image of her he'd admire for a long time.

And time had been exactly what he needed. Time brought his mission to an end; time brought clarity; time brought life; time brought him home, to _her_, and he wasn't the same bitter, broken man who'd left it. He wasn't the same drowning man who'd cradled her hips and tried to float.

But she was still Sunshine, and he was soaking it up, content to lay and doze underneath her, next to her.

* * *

His fingers flex, seeking heat, warmth, _Sunshine_.

Her skin is softer than anything. The sheets could have been a thousand thread count, and they would still have felt like sandpaper compared to the satin of the thin membrane that has somehow managed to contain his whole world.

She sighs and shifts a little, beginning to wake up though the sky, the room, the night remains as it is: dark, quiet, intimate. Their children sleep on, their high, delighted voices—"_Daddy! Mummy! Good morning! Are you up now? Are you up? Can we all have breakfast in your bed?_"—dimmed for now, until the earth finishes its rotation and the day begins again. Her fingers slide over his forearm, his hand, until they tangle, merge.

Some say he is darkness, and if he is, then she is light, will always be light even when she snaps and burns with fury.

But when they merge, she swallows his darkness, takes it into herself, and somehow gives it back pure and clean, through her touch and her words and the glances they exchange.

Some nights, though, she needs his darkness, and the escape; freedom from being so damn good all the time.

Whatever she needs, however, he will gladly provide. Yin to yang; right to wrong; light to night; earth and sky.

"Molly," he whispers, his voice low, pulsing, _purring_, "I need you."

Stirring a little more, his wife—his _wife_, _his_ wife, his wife!—murmurs back, "You always need me." So matter-of-fact, so apt with that edge of humor that cuts just as sharp as the most hurtful of his deductions.

"Yes," he agrees with a sibilant hiss, as her slender leg loops over his, as she settles above him, naked and lovely, her brown hair strung with soft moonlight, her body sleek and magnificent. "I've always needed you."

Then there is heat, and need; devouring, consuming, feasting until they can handle no more, until they curl up side by side, contented, warmed.


End file.
